


Privacy Series

by woundmetender



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Mentions of Violence, Needles, Oral Sex, Possible Spoilers, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, cursing, handjobs, slight gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28726887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woundmetender/pseuds/woundmetender
Summary: The reader and Daryl get close... very close. (Basically a smut series beginning after season 3)
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & You, Daryl Dixon/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Injured on a scavenging trip, Daryl Dixon hides away to lick at his wounds. Knowing a thing or two about patching up such, you stitch him up without numbing the area, instead making up for it after by concealing pain with pleasure.

The prison's walls shuddered under the intrusion of shuffling new individuals from the former anomaly that was Woodbury. The fortified town came under fire after their leader abandoned them, tales and descriptions as well as close encounters telling you how a power trip ate at the last bits of sanity within him. The Governor turned on his own "soldiers" and such news delivered gave you a newfound appreciation for those you stuck with when the world decided to cave in on itself. Sure, you lost quite a few back at the camp, the farm, and the future realistically painted a picture of further massacre, but somehow hope managed to sift through your veins from the youthful faces of children bouncing around.

At first, finding room for everyone was a chaotic task in itself, but you all settled in the community and established rules for both who stayed and who was to arrive. A week passed, things changing when people were assigned tasks according to their strengths. Every part needed to move for this machine to carry on, walkers threatening livelihood regardless of preparation or not so it didn't hurt whatsoever to be ready.

Walkers currently pressed their full body weight into the outer fence, a rusted pole utilized as your weapon as you jammed one end of it into their skulls. The squelch used to nauseate you, but gore and ugliness became second nature. Unfortunately, no one had time to bend over and wretch over the smell permeating through the air either. Your stomach built up a tolerance to the atrocities, and you weren't exactly sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. It may help to create an immune system to defend against the undead, but the fact that you had to because there _were_ undead was pretty grim.

Almost blackened blood coats your copper pole as you slide it out of the cranium of a soon dropping walker. It crumbles down into the floor in an immobile heap, your arms flexing as you drop the dirtied end into the floor and rest your palms into the end you gripped. You were tired, but not fatigued, your body running on adrenaline at a constant rate as an adaptation to the now destructive environment. As sweat beads from your scalp and slips down your neck into the fabric of your shirt, you elect to ignore it and raise your pole to aid the others in ridding of the rest of the walkers, but an engine roaring captures your attention.

It's basically become your cue, legs running to the gate before you're able to form coherent thought. A few others help in opening it, two vehicles rolling in quickly and then you help close it in a rapid fashion. Hours passed since the two groups left, so you're ecstatic they're back. Anyone could be lost at any moment and that thought alone is far too scary for you to dwell on. So, you simply don't, a smile plastering itself on your features as you run over and check if everyone's okay.

Rick steps out of the first car, Glenn emerging from the passenger seat as a fresh face (his name is Bernard or something, you can't necessarily keep track of all the people they brought in, but you're trying) pops out from the back. From the second car, Daryl, Michonne, Karen, and Tyrese leave, but they still seem to have perspiration on their brows. You, out of concern, move to them and try and examine them as if you could tell what happened by the mere sight.

Michonne has a nasty cut above her eyebrow while Karen has a bruise the size of Connecticut on her cheek. Tyrese doesn't seem injured and neither does Daryl. Tyrese hums out a breath of air as he checks over Karen, so you gravitate towards Michonne. The two of you aren't close by any means, but you trusted her far above any newbie. She took a spot within your makeshift family and you couldn't help but establish the beginning of a brand new relationship.

"What happened?" You asked, Daryl's stalking off from the groups not going unnoticed. His skin was tinted a bit red, but you blamed the harsh rays of the sun. And yet his stubborn ass refuses to remove his leather jacket and vest regardless of the overwhelming heat.

"We got caught up in a small herd when we were in one of the stores in town. Think we all bumped into shit we didn't mean to. We hightailed it once we made it out safe." She raised her hand, finger pointing to the cut she couldn't see. Its presence most likely burned from the slight shift of air.

"Think this'll need stitches?"

"Maybe. I'll have to look at it in the infirmary."

You placed a hand on her arm, inching closer to see the damage. The head always bled more, so the drip from the cut to her eyelid isn't something that sends you reeling backwards. However, you guided her to the prison with no protest from her end. This is what you do, patch people up through what Hershel has been teaching you. When the turn occurred, you decided to pursue a career in the medical field out of hope it was the smart way when a biology degree wasn't too appetizing. You understood the body and it just made sense since you weren't too keen on heading into a scientific atmosphere nor being a teacher. You were merely trying to find a place in the world, somewhere you fit in a jumbled puzzle.

And then the puzzle of a planet rearranged itself and threw a majority of the pieces away.

* * *

After patching Michonne up and icing down Karen's bruise, you headed from the infirmary to the prison cells. You're not the first person to volunteer for runs, but you had a long day helping around as much as you could despite that. A nap is at the top of your agenda, a slow gait initiated as you walk down the corridors to find your cell. It seems as if everyone is outside, figures of bodies not outlined for you as you passed the numerous bars.

Except for one… one who doesn't even stay in a prison cell.

You approached the cellbars slowly, standing in the doorway haphazardly covered by a curtain. Daryl turned his head to see you, a sigh falling from his lips at the sight. Your connection was strained at first, building up as yours did with anyone from the beginning and the farm, but you saw a change in him become rather drastic. He got a lot quieter since Merle… you didn't blame him as much as you disliked his older brother, but you actually missed the obnoxiousness Daryl used to release on the daily. Family is family, and while you didn't know what happened to yours, it was pain you still grieved over the very same.

"What're you doin' in here?" You ask. Your arms cross over your chest, back leaning into the open area. Your body blocks out light trying to peek in, Daryl's features barely illuminated by what manages to surpass you.

"Nothin'," he dismissed flatly, the crossbow he set down onto the bed being slung over his shoulder. The entire motion is done awfully cautious for you to believe Daryl did it if you had not seen him with your own eyes. He seemed… off. His pacing carried a deliberate setting you solely saw when he tracked and stalked prey for everyone to eat. Why did he need such cautiousness caught in one of the cells resting?

Your eyes scanned the area of the cell, one of the empty ones Rick's paranoia refuses to occupy with others. Watching his descent into madness as well as his ascent into sanity and acceptance was quite the journey, but he seemed to still have a prioritization of those who he's been with from the beginning. If Daryl came into this empty cell, it was for a reason, and so you try to scope it out since he's purposely muted his tone and body language. By the look on his face when you entered, he didn't want to be found there. When your eyes focus on a few droplets of deep crimson staining the contrasting grey of the floor, you stop him from moving past you with a hand pressing into his chest.

Icy cerulean irises dropped to stare at your hand, but you do not falter despite the intensity a simple gaze from Daryl Dixon promises. His chest feels hard under your palm, a deep breath he inhales inflating it. He wants to leave, you can tell, and you just got in the way of that. But, you refused to back away from him and passively stand by when something's amiss. Not when you can help.

"Sit and take off your jacket," you say quietly, boldly and daringly meeting the flash in his eyes without so much as flinching.

His jaw visibly tightened and you're not sure if he's going to yell at you or push you aside to get through, but slowly, enough time passes and you watch him relax. There's tension thick in the air, but he steps backwards and removes his crossbow from a broad shoulder and places it onto the bed as he did before. The vest slipped off, a methodical tempo set he follows religiously until the dark leather begins to move off his thick arms. His left arm unveils itself first, but when he goes for the second, he looks at you with hesitation in his eyes. He's trying to communicate something to you and you're wondering if it's shame or embarrassment.

His digits took a hold of the leather and he raised his right arm to inch the material off as slow as he possibly could. It's difficult to watch, but you can't find it in you to turn away as his arm trembles while he moves almost snail like. Your suspicions are confirmed when rustic blood comes into the picture from his elbow all the way down to his fingertips. The wound he suffered must've been bleeding a majority of the time they've been back.

"Shit, Daryl," you muttered lowly. You grabbed the bag he took in there and rummaged through it for the medical supplies. From there, you stepped closer to clean off the blood around the wound. It appeared deep enough to require stitches, so every move became punctual in your assurance to ensure no infection spread.

"Why didn't you say anythin'?" You huffed out, getting the thread and needle from under the mess he probably tried to sort through himself before you found him alone. You captured the items necessary, moving his arm at an angle to begin sewing.

Normally, to numb it down, you applied something before you started stitches, but he went too long on his own and fear upped your pace. You looked up at him apologetically through long lashes, a gaze he returned impassively.

"Didn't think it was that bad," he said quietly.

How could he remain so still as you slid the needle into the surrounding, damaged skin? You had no intentions to make matters worse, but the sole tell-tale sign that he's in pain from _your_ actions is the slight flex in his jaw you almost don't catch. You do because you keep glancing up at him, the sweat above his brow glistening in the narrow light beaming into the cell.

"What happened exactly?" You gently asked, moving slower in stitching him up.

"Fell on some glass. I could barely feel it, but then I started to once we got back. Nothin' personal… I just didn't wanna'..." bother you? Inconvenience you? That sentence he trailed off on could have gone a myriad of ways, but the burdened look on his features told you how this was hard for him. Allowing you so close while providing succor, it was a difficult thing for him to accept.

"It's okay to need help. Doesn't make you any less," was the final thing you let out before silence took hold of the atmosphere.

You finished the thread work soon after, currently moving his arm to examine the end product. You remained cautious as you leaned forward, your opposite hand falling onto his knee to steady yourself. You couldn't help it, your legs started to fall asleep from how long you kept them tucked under you. However, the denim underneath your hand is what your eyes fell to unconsciously, a sudden realization hitting of how the two of you hardly had any space in between your bodies.

His breath hitched, a noticeable sound that causes your head to shift up towards him. The previous shut jaws have parted enough to gaze at a sliver of pink from his tongue. The slightest shade of rose coats the apples of his cheeks, something you take as a reaction from the needle and thread, but as you nervously drop your head to avert his gaze, you ascertain the real perpetrator.

A tent pitched in his pants evidently told you of his arousal, but what caused it, you're unsure of. It's possible he got off on pain considering how eager he always was to jump headfirst into danger, but your hand happened to inch from his knee to his thigh and the muscle tensed in your palm. It occurred to you how this must look from a different perspective, practically on your knees in front of Daryl's spread legs. It wasn't your intention to plant this image in his head, nor yours, but it's creating an ache in between your thighs that you're probably turning red from the very same.

Yes, you were attracted to Daryl. It developed slowly on the farm once you got past his rude commentary and crude humor. You merely pushed it down because the last thing anyone needed was any other kind of drama, but you found it hard to ignore it with his sweaty bangs and obvious desire… it _was_ for _you_ , right?

God, it was difficult to gauge his current feelings when his expression was set and hardened. You wondered what he was thinking, if he felt bashful from the situation the two of you fell into, but no words filtered from your suddenly dry throat. What could you say without breaking the tension and communicating that it was okay, that… that you wanted him, too. You could embarrass yourself and tell him of the heat pooling in your stomach, but that was foreign on you. Experiencing such was either pushed away or unknown in the wake of the undead.

You decided to take the next bold step, running your hand from his thigh to the bulge in his pants. Just as you managed to reach it, his left hand shot out to grab you by the wrist. Your heart thudded violently in your chest, hesitant eyes finding his to see if you stepped over the line, if you should've voiced your attraction or walked out of the room, but there's nothing in those blue storm clouds to decipher. He doesn't even seem to be breathing as his eyes dig holes seemingly into your soul.

All you want to do is leave the cell, pretend nothing happened so the two of you could resume quiet conversations merely initiated to make sure the other is safe. But damn it, if you stand up suddenly and make a run for it, you'd fall straight on your face since your legs felt numb from the lack of movement. You had to wiggle them, gain back feeling as they tingled with static. That would just make this worse, though… you standing up and creating mannerisms just so you could plan an escape route after almost touching his crotch.

However, instead of pushing your hand away, instead of standing up himself and walking out, instead of telling you to go to hell—he slowly lowered your hand to its original destination. He felt warm despite the layers of clothing concealing his hard-on, a definitive pulse occurring against your digits as you grasped him cautiously. He inhaled a sharp breath, his hand remaining on yours as a steady weight. You were afraid to move forward, unsure of how to go without creating a discomfort you thought was there before in your worries. But then he transitioned his steady weight to a guiding pressure, displaying his need that you complied with and pumped him through.

The soft groan escaping his lips is otherworldly, an astonished breath slipping from you. You look up at him through your lashes, mouth parting as you maneuver by his lead, stroking him through the thick denim of his jeans. He leaned forward, breaths coming out in a staccato. His head bowed, hair hiding his features from you despite your longing to see him in building pleasure.

"Daryl," you cooed, attempting to gain his attention. Something stopped you from reaching up to push the long strands from his facial structure yourself, but you hoped your voice drew him from being so shy. After all, your hand currently worked to satisfy him beyond anything the two of you have ever done.

"Don't stop," he murmured, a deep and dark gravel your heart stuttered for, your underwear damn near soaked for.

"Fuck, Y/N," he said as he moved his hand from yours to slide his fingers through your hair to caress your head. He leveled you with those now royal blues, "so fuckin' pretty," rolling off his tongue like rich whiskey.

He continued to pant, little grunts as he bucked his hips up into your touch. You moved faster in response, anything to get him there. You had to regardless if you found a deep fascination with how he neared orgasm. Merely doing this for him, feeling how thick he felt, your mouth watered… you wanted him down your throat, have him finish by something other than your hand. And yet, you still felt timorous grasping his girth at this bad angle, clothes in the way of the two of you gaining further intimacy. Perhaps such was good for him, enough for him without scaring him off. To fight the urge, you tucked your bottom lip in between your teeth, dropping to your knees fully on the concrete to try and get some feeling back to your legs. (All while squeezing your thighs together)

That's when it happened, his fingers curling in your hair as he exhaled shakily and pulsated faster than before. You moved through it, slowing down to watch the relaxation falling over his lowering shoulders. He tried to catch his breath, hand grasping yours to keep you from touching him further. He was most likely sensitive from his release, but he squeezed your hand in what you took as appreciation.

He adjusted his body, chest rising and falling as he laid backwards into the bed with special carefulness due to his injury. His eyes were already slipping closed, probably from his end and the amount of blood he lost, you couldn't pinpoint it to one thing. You used the edge of the bed as leverage to stand up straight, your legs like jelly as you stretched them out and watched as he eventually calmed.

You sat down a moment, brushing hair out of his eyes with your fingers. He looked up at you lazily, something telling you that he wanted to say something. But… with what just occurred in the past hour, you knew he was exhausted.

"Shh… get some rest. You need it." And with that, you gently kissed his knuckles and left from the cell, the curtain placed down to give him the privacy necessary.

Hopefully no one else would intrude on his current need to be alone.


	2. Sleepless Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why hasn’t Daryl come to talk to you? Why hasn’t he looked at you? And why the hell can’t you stop thinking about him?

"Fuck," you muttered out, the toe of your boot thudding hard against the wooden bench's base Carol and Maggie sat at. The both of them raised their heads, the bucket full of water in your hands falling straight to the floor. Suds spilled over the concrete as the liquid reached a vast surface area, a temporary stain already being dried by the overwhelming heat of the sun above. As you reached down to grab your foot to alleviate some of the pain carrying throughout it, your eyes stared over the evidence of your misconception and you bowed your head in shame.

The task at hand required you to bring the bucket from point A to B for laundry, but now your toes felt bruised from the blunt force of trying to morph them with solid mass. The water wasted seeping down a vent in the middle made your mouth turn downwards into a deep frown, regaining your bearings to walk right over and pick up the bucket. Your arms wrapped around it, cradled it close to your body as you stared down into its almost empty depths. Bubbles collected at the bottom, barely any water staring back up at you to signify you needed to retreat and get more.

"It's okay, it happens," came Carol's voice from behind you, a hand on your shoulder patting to try and reassure you. The motion usually calmed you, but you felt on edge and shrugged off her efforts with a shaky breath.

"Should be more careful," you mumbled lowly, almost more so to yourself. It wasn't like you to instantly beat yourself up over something so trivial, overthinking occurring after conversations and events, but this time you couldn't help to be a little negative. And fortunately, Carol only gave you a light smile while she went to sit back with Maggie and continue in whatever discussion they had before your sudden distraction.

From there, you went back to the supply and began to fill up all over again, trying to blink your eyes through the heaviness currently weighing them down. The night saw to it that you didn't sleep much, eyes staring up at the bed frame of the bunk above yours. You took the bottom one out of fear you might roll off the top during the night, highly considering asking Rick to help you move it out so you could just stack some mattresses together on the floor. Yet, you never got around to implementing this idea, letting it be known solely to your thoughts since everyone was too busy in your eyes to be bothered.

Your mind raced, eyes twinging at the darkness surrounding you in a rather lonely cell. Your thumbs kept twiddling against one another, lost in contemplation over what happened with Daryl and if you should've sought him out after a few hours. Fear stopped you from doing so, from taking the initiative to talk to him about the incident that gave you a vivid image of how he looked lost in pleasure. That same image continued to float into your imagination, what it could've transitioned into if you took him into your mouth or sat in his lap and… Every time your mind roamed _there,_ you screwed your eyes shut and rolled to your side to squeeze your thighs together. It barely held off the ache forming, but it did enough to stop your hand from reaching down and getting yourself off to the thought of him.

If he didn't come to you first, did it mean anything? You were the one to walk out and let him sleep in his ruined pants, but surely he remembered what went down once he woke up and surely he would be the one to break layers of thick ice between you… right? Did you place too much faith in Daryl to talk about feelings or anything related to them? Possibly, but with your apprehension of having to open up Pandora's box by making the first move towards him, you didn't want to cause any discomfort or expect anything that could've been a one time deal. He could've been delirious from pain, his body sensitive to any touch provided no matter the person who did so.

But… he did call you _pretty_ , thought of you as attractive, growled out your name in lust that it felt too personal to be so interchangeable.

You wrestled with yourself until sunlight came pouring in through the creak of your curtains, signaling for you to stand up to your feet and get ready for the day. Dark circles were under your eyes, easily detected as you walked up to the rectangular mirror you found on a run now hanging on the wall. It's probably why Carol took no offense to the snark you distributed after dropping the soapy water down into the floor. The evidence of your sleepless night was written all over your face, heightened in your attitude you even displayed as you rammed a pole through the skulls of walkers hanging on the outer fence.

You did it with such tenacity and frustration that Karen stared at you as if you just stepped on her puppy and laughed about it in her face. You ignored the look, continued on, and got rid of walkers. Such practice should have been enough to lull your psyche into peace, but it did the opposite, intensifying a sea of stress you drowned in.

The odd part is that you saw Daryl leaving outside of the gates with Glenn after your assistance in putting down the undead for good, watching to see if he noticed you at all. He kept his head forward, his crossbow slung on the opposite shoulder of his injury you patched up the day before. The man should've been resting, not going for some impromptu run in the same woods that got him cut up in the first place. It caused your irritation to rise, annoyance sifting in your blood as the vehicle they took disappeared off into the distance. They were both capable of taking care of themselves, but Daryl's stubborn streak never ceased to amaze you in both positive and negative ways.

It was just that bugging you, absolutely not the fact that he didn't look at you once. And it also wasn't the overbearing fact that he still didn't glance over as you walked to get your bucket of water over to the nearby table where dirty clothes were stacked. No, you didn't furrow your brows and stub your toes harshly into a bench because he went straight into the prison without any other care in the world.

No way. None of it was related… At least, no one could prove it.

* * *

Slipping your boots off, you let out a noise of relief, dropping each to the floor as you started to strip off the top layer button-up over your torso. It left you in a white tank top, your hands moving to your back to tuck under the material and unclasp your bra. Repose hit your chest thunderously, the straps and cups removed from your body as you slid it out the front of your tank. You haphazardly discarded the bra and shirt off to the side, at most, unbuttoning your jeans and getting the zipper down. One of the downsides of the apocalypse was never being able to fully get undressed, dangers sneaking up no matter the time of day and no matter the state of your outfit or lack of.

It was enough to make you feel exhausted, body taut from the stress you endured from the previous day into this one in the thick of night. You kept yourself busy to stop yourself from thinking about him, successful in some hours and not so successful in the next.

Just as you laid back into your bed and prepared to pull your blanket over, you heard tapping on the metal bars of your cell. Your heart began to hammer in your chest, unsure if someone, or _something_ , brushed up against it. Your worries were valid after the fall of the camp and farm, the almost fall when Lori went into labor and the Governor invaded. If someone stood out there this late, it meant that bad news was coming since everyone usually departed and went into their cramped corridors with little to no protest. You often locked yourself up because of these doubts, slowly swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and grabbing your knife to create a sense of security.

Gripping the curtain draped in front of the bars, you pulled it and then stood back ready to strike or ready to take news that they needed to kick it into high gear, but the contours of Daryl's features were there to greet you. They were highlighted and contrasted by moonlight and opaque, a glimmer of his eyes caught and as blue as ice reflected by water. Your stance came undone, arm taken out of the air as you stared at him in curiosity.

"Can I come in?" He asked, his voice low in volume. He obviously didn't want to wake or disturb anyone who was sleeping nearby. The whole prison was snoozing or at least pretending to with how quiet it all felt. You could see why he chose to talk that way transparently.

Nodding, you retrieved your keys and unlocked your cell, the door pushed gently so it wouldn't emit a squeak it normally did in its building rust. The silent permission granted Daryl entry, his broad frame stepping into the space and sitting on your bed. You locked it back up, knowing fully well that Daryl often felt trapped by these cells, but your paranoia won out your need to shelter him. Besides, he watched you and didn't make any arguments whatsoever, not even as you ensured the curtain completely blocked visage in.

You brought out the lantern from under your bed, turning the knob slightly just to provide a bit of light for the two of you to see each other. After putting it on the ground, you padded to him and then sat across from him, knees pulling close to your chest that you wrapped your arms around.

For minutes, neither of you said anything. Your attention turned to the bed frame, to the concrete floor, to the lantern, his face, and then your knees. You continued this cycle, shifting to stare everywhere in the room, only latching a gaze to him to see what he was doing and it seemed to be the exact same thing you were doing yourself. Who knew why he decided to show up at this hour or why he decided to show up at all, but any reasoning you could possibly come up with still made you infinitely nervous with the lack of words shared.

"Didn't sleep much, did you?" He said, breaking the silence between you. It wasn't a question, it was too knowing for it to need a proper answer of sorts.

"Do I look that bad?" You responded, except your question was very much a question as you mused and ran a hand to tuck hair behind your ear. You thought you looked distraught the minute you woke and saw your raccoon eyes and everyone who saw you seemed to make the connection painted on your face and disheveled in your actions.

"Nah," he surprised you, "Not at all. Carol told me." You felt a little encouraged that he didn't find your appearance to be unappealing, but you found yourself intrigued by the second part.

"Askin' 'bout me?" You playfully let out, a smile on your brims as you tilted your head. You expected him to shake his head and say a witty line back, maybe deny it and say that it came up in casual conversation, but he continued to keep his expression serious and soft.

"Somethin' like that."

Again, the absence of sound took a hold and the two of you held one another's gaze. You didn't know how to reply to such a vague proclamation, wondering why he didn't come around you earlier if he went and asked Carol anything about you, but then, as if he read your thoughts, he adjusted where he sat to turn his physique towards you.

"Wanted to see you yesterday, but I woke up late and thought you were already in bed. Barely got an hour or two gettin' meat carved up for today and then Glenn was askin' me to tag along on some trip to get Maggie somethin'." He stopped to search your face, any sign that you wanted to cut in and say something, but you didn't. You weren't sure what to say actually, mentally kicking yourself for believing he purposely avoided you.

"Ended up gettin' busy and just got the chance to talk to Carol a bit ago and she said you were off, that I should let you cool down. Spent too long waitin' on that damn perch tryin' to work up the nerve…" He made a 'pfft' sound, as if he was ashamed of himself for not coming sooner, feeding into the toxic masculine side that didn't allow him to show anxiety of any kind. It was cute he was waiting for the proper moment to come to you, probably overshadowed by too many thoughts that also managed to infiltrate your mind the very same.

That still didn't answer your question from earlier. It answered how he got to bring himself outside of your cell and not why.

"What're you doin' here, Daryl?" You asked, but it was gentle, not wanting to turn him away when he accomplished the task in seeking you out. It was the bare minimum, but difficult for someone like him who kept to himself after all the pain of the past few months endured. You started to change too, become less talkative and refrain from complaining about things out of your hands. Both of you were stronger, but wounded and hurt. It made you wonder if strength these days equated to pain survived.

"I want you."

It was so bold and flippant, so nonchalant that it caused a disruption in your system. Your mouth went dry as you stared at him, hairs standing on end with such a simple sentence. He barely touched you the last time the two of you were together and there you were aching and fidgeting as if he bent you over and slammed home. That picture matched with the intensity of his now burning eyes did nothing to help shockwaves floating over your thighs.

"Can't stop fuckin' thinkin' 'bout you. On that damn perch, in the damn car, in the damn woods, the damn store when Glenn picked up condoms—I didn't know that you saw me… like…" There's a fumbling in his words, but you get it, you totally comprehend his dilemma since the confirmation of his attraction to you unraveled hidden desires you turned your nose away from. You thought about him and what he might be like in bed a few times, subconsciously wondered if he'd be good, but each time, you shut it down by reminding yourself there wasn't a chance and there were more important matters like surviving from one day to the next.

"I know," you murmured, not letting him try and explain it away. Your legs came off your chest, stretched out in front of you to place a hand on his and reassure him that he could stop talking about his confusion. Its overwhelming complexities fell over your shoulders as they did his so you wouldn't be pushing him when you couldn't explain it yourself.

"Then c'mere, Y/N," he ground out, moving past the words and heading straight to the action as he wrapped his hand around your wrist and pulled you closer. His voice trailed on that of authoritative, sending your body unconsciously scooting with his pull as if he commanded it now. He brought his mouth to yours, kissed you so deeply and hungrily that you moaned right into him.

He happily swallowed the noise, hands cupping your jaw to tilt your head back and survey how your tongue felt against his. It undulated, glissaded as you tipped yours down. You parted your lips rather eagerly for him, falling back first into your mattress as he used his body weight to push you down. Instantly, your thighs parted for him, grateful he slotted himself in between them as soon as you gave him the opportunity. Heat simmered from the kiss you shared, so passionate and needy that you felt drunk from the lack of oxygen coming to your brain. Sparks flew above your head, exploded in the background as he drug his teeth across your bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth.

He kissed a trail from your lips to your jaw and to your neck, fingers lightly pinching your pebbled nipples through the thin material of your tank top. They must've been hardened this entire time, on his radar the second he entered since he did it again to elicit a whine from your mouth and shoot a flood of desire seeping through your underwear. Daryl continued his excursion down south, replacing his index finger and thumb to mouth over your right nipple and breathe hot and wet against it. You moaned loud and unabashedly, keenly sensitive since it had been so long since anyone touched you this way, paid special attention to spots on you to get you riled over the moon.

He impatiently dug his fingers into the hem of your tank and pulled it over your head, capturing your lips in a searing kiss right after. His right hand cupped your breast and squeezed, thumb rolling over your nipple so consistently that you let out another noise for him. But then, rather suddenly, he stopped making your brain go stupid with his kissing and stuffed your tank top into your mouth. Blinking at him, you stared at him questioningly as he kissed the tip of your nose.

"Trust me, princess, I wanna' hear you screamin' my name, but we can't wake the whole prison," he whispered, pecking your cheeks that flushed with crimson. You weren't aware you were being so loud, sheepish at how brazen he made you feel, but something about this makeshift gag and the challenge to be quiet was just adding to the experience. You prepared yourself, the act of it signifying his trust in his skills.

Eventually, he made it to your jeans, grasping the waistband and getting them off of your legs. You kicked them the rest of the way, head falling violently into your pillow as he used the flat of his tongue to lap up your panty covered center from the bottom of your slit to the top. He ended with a flick, a starved groan coming from his mouth that vibrated against your outer lips. Saliva in addition to your sticky torrent made you feel dirty, craving for it to escalate.

"Knew you'd taste fuckin' good," he said, implying he thought of you this way before. He confirmed he daydreamed about licking you, about thinking of how you tasted, about coming to a lewd conclusion that you'd be appetizing.

His thumbs hooked at the sides of your panties, dragging them down your legs and shifting them to where they hung off your left ankle. Your legs caressed his shoulders, his hands spreading your thighs further apart by sliding his arms around them and holding them open. Air hit your glistening outer lips, his fingers pressing so hard into the outsides of your thighs that you could feel his blunt nails were going to leave behind crescent shapes. Scrambling to your elbows, you turned your head to stare down at Daryl, hunger in his expression as he took you in. He obviously marveled at the sight, took time to enjoy the view before his lashes flickered upwards to hold your eye contact.

Then, he used the flat of his tongue to lap the length of your slit, touch your folds, and everything in between. The end of the motion barely swiped your clit with the tip of his tongue, leaving you trembling for more as you moaned desperately into your tank top. The muffled sound brought a rare smirk to his lips, one you never saw from him. It told a tale of mischief, lechery gleaming in his pupils as he took another lap as if he was savoring you. He practically was, actively taking long licks that did the most to coat his taste buds, swallowing your essence down that formed a sheen over his top and bottom lip.

He dipped his tongue between your lips, kept going until he slid it into your entrance and rolled it. You felt so dizzy, falling back to your bed as you whimpered desperately. He ate you out like you were the last meal on earth, kissing, licking, and sucking spots that concocted stars behind your closed eyelids. Your hands gripped your blankets tight in your curling fists, whining when you suddenly felt his mouth pull a few centimeters back and his breath hit you all over again. Taut and frustrated with need, you almost pulled the tank top out of your mouth to demand he continue, but you stopped yourself from committing to the action when you glanced down and watched his fingers disappear into his mouth.

He sucked them, coated them with saliva, and then they disappeared into _you,_ index and middle going knuckle deep. His thick digits curled, fumbled around and then bent back and forth to rub a spot that made you scream into your gag. Your hips lifted right off the mattress, pelvis almost hitting him in the nose. He husked out in retaliation, his left forearm coming down to hold you down by pressing into your abdomen and continuing the motion that left you reeling. All you could do was whine, try to move your hips against the almost painful sensation as he added his tongue back into the mix.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, a spot rubbed deep within you while he paid special attention to your clit with his tongue. He suckled hard, pumped his fingers inside of you until you were overwhelmed with lightning spiking from your groin to your spine.

You couldn't hold off if you tried to, walls clamping down on the width of his two fingers, a gush of your release spasming out. You tried to scream out his name, but it was a garbled mess against the cloth and deep from the back of your throat. His idea to muzzle you so no one would hear was falling flat because you were positive everyone in the prison and out heard you fall apart. You tried to breathe through your nostrils, whimpering when Daryl didn't stop his activities.

His fingers slowed down, but his tongue remained rampant, licking up what oozed from you all the way down to the sensitive skin right underneath your cunt. You shivered as he went back up, keening and jolting when he purposely went over your throbbing clit. He noticed how you were currently overworked, but the asshole chuckled lightly and peppered your femininity with gentle kisses. Gradually, he pulled his fingers out and you couldn't help but to clench at the loss, feeling a little empty but satisfied as you draped an arm over your stomach.

As you tried to inhale and exhale evenly, he brought his fingers up to his mouth and fucking _slurped_ your climax off his skin, cleaning them off like a damn cat who ran through a mess.

And what a mess of you he made: one leg hung off the bed, your thighs still spread, chest falling and rising, fabric shoved in your mouth to where you felt saliva slipping from the corner of your lips. He walked to sit at the edge near you, grabbing your tank top and tossing it aside. Just when you thought you were allowed a proper breath of oxygen, he pressed his lips to yours, the taste of yourself fiercely on his tongue that snaked to part your lips. You did so eagerly, but you felt as if you walked a thousand miles, slumping when he moved backwards and reached to grab the frame of the top bunk. He stared down at you so intensely that you were certain he was going to crawl in bed and take you right there, but instead, he surprised you with a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Get some sleep. I'll see ya' soon, promise," he said, already moving to get your keys. You tried to sit up in protest, but he was already unlocking the door.

To be frank, if he decided to climb on top and do more, you would've been drained of any life force. You were absolutely exhausted, boneless from your orgasm, and already closing your eyes as you laid sprawled on your bed. He did that, sent you into relaxation so deep that you fell right to sleep as soon he was gone.

But you had to admit, it was the best fucking sleep of your life.


End file.
